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Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



3537 
34 A6 
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THRENODY.V^^ \ 
" Requiem A etemam Dona Eis, Domine" 



One more immortal soul has urged its way 

Up through the vast unknown, from nature's 

bound, 
Past stars and suns in realms of space, 
To Him, the Majesty Divine, who sits and rules, 
And executes with wisdom infinite, 
His unrestrained decrees. 

II. 

Born to the mortal lot, with mortal frame, 
All powers possessed received by gift— 
The Giver, He Who now has taken— 
In that, th' appointed field assigned by Him 
Whose word wrought being, all were used, 
Developed, perfected, matured. 

Through sorrow, joy ; with pleasure, pain ; 
By night, by day ; in patience, hope and love, 
Th' experience varied held its ceaseless course 

—But now 'tis done ! 

III. 

The spirit fled— our loss appears ; 

The stroke comes home upon our very hearts ! 

For, though the spirit finds 4k 'Tis gain to die !" 

Those left behind are left beneath the cloud, 

And left to mourn : 

To mourn, yet not with gloom, 

As those who have no hope. 



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From the Watkins Express of Sept. 26, 1901. 

There is infinite reason to say again, as 
we have so often said before, "How 
blessings brighten as they take their 
flight!" Over and over again we lament, 
with a grievous lamentation, the loss of 
that which we undervalued, slighted, 
perhaps abused, while in our possession. 
Oh! the misery of it— that we continually 
repeat this folly, for 
" There is an end to all but one sweet thing— 
To love there is no end." 

"Just while the people pressed to meet their 

chief, 
And he was greeting them with smiling face, 
And the glad moments were all free of grief 
In pride of him, the country, and the race- 
In the rich fullness of that happy tide, 
Aglow with memories of the nation's fame- 
As if all human sweetness to deride, 
A form, surcharged with evil venom, came— 
Its finger bent— and the great ruler fell I 
O fatal touch ! O fallen, shining mark I" 
At once the swelling waves of Joy rolled back, 
And waves of sorrow angrily rushed in ; 
Earth's mightiest nation draped itself in black, 
And all the nations shuddered at the sin." 

" Now naught is left but ashes, and we bring 
Our homage to new men, to them we bend. 
There is an end to all but one sweet thing— 
To love there is no end." 

Who was our dead President? That 
question is not answered yet, nor will it 



be for many years to come; but the en- 
tire American people, and all the think- 
ing men and women of the whole broad 
world, have been awakened to a patriotic 
appreciation of William McKinley. 

Our eyes are dazzled, and our ears hum, 
with what we see and hear ou every side. 
The papers and people who.on the morn- 
ing of that direful Friday in this sad 
month of September, lampooned the 
martyred President as the slave of trusts, 
the patron saint of oppression, the agent 
of syndicates, and mockingly asked, 
"Upon what meat doth this our Caesar 
feed that he hath grown so great?" have, 
with one stride, stepped to the front rank 
of his eulogists. Most wonderful trans- 
formation! But, once— and now — they 
speak the troth of him— and we can only 
say of the change, "It is God's way! 
His will be done!" 

Farewell to William McKinley! He 
died as he lived, with simple, manly 
courage, and unaffected piety. His 
character was the embodiment of sweet- 
ness. He was master of himself, and 
therefore fit to be master of others. He 
was a generous, true-hearted gentleman, 
a wise and brilliant 'statesman, a great 
and noble chief magistrate. His greatest 
ambition was to serve his country in the 
love of men, and the fear of God. Only 



a fine character, a noble life, fidelity and 
competency in the highest station, and a 
martyr's death met with supreme forti- 
tude and faith, could evoke such world- 
wide sorrow as mourns his loss. 

Farewell to William McKinley! The 
good citizen, the brave soldier.the twice- 
honored chief magistrate, the true heart- 
ed, loving husband. His life is his mon- 
ument. His deeds are his epitaph. He 
served the nation — the nation mourns. 
He adorned the world— the whole world 
weeps at his tomb and honors his mem- 
ory. 

"In life— 
By foes sometimes maligned, 
Oft doubted by his friends- 
Ignoring those who criticized. 
He saw the way in future skies, 
And took the path where duty lies 
To serve the nation's end." 

"In death — 
The hero of us all, 
The enemy of none. 
With pain he trod the lonesome road, 
Knowing the end was nigh ; 
All fearless paced the dismal waste, 
And taught us how to die." 

Benj. W. Scobei. 

Watkius, N. Y. 
September 19, 1901. 



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A SOUL-CRY. y ^P 



Written by Frank Dempster Sherman, 
W. D. Russell, John Greenleaf Whittier, and 
Elizabeth Lincoln Gould. Collected and ar- 
ranged by Benj. W. Soobey, 

Watkins, N. Y. 

O, God ! 

It is my joy in life to find, 
At every turning of the road. 
The strong arm of a comrade kind 
To help me onward with my load. 
And since I have no gold to give, 
And love alone can make amends, 
My earnest prayer is— while I live, 
God make me worthy op my friends ! 
In all I thinkt or speak, or do, 
Whatever way my steps are bent, 
God shape and keep me strong and true, 
Courageous, cheerful, and content ! 
God help me ! Help me to suppress 
All longing for what cannot be ; 
And grant me love wherewith to bless 
Whoever may have need— of me ! 
Teach us to love, and give, like Thee ! 
Not narrowly men's claims to measure ; 
But daily question all our powers— 
To whose cup can we add pleasure ? 
Whose path can we make bright with 
flowers ? 



Grant us, O Lord, the grace to bear 

The ceaseless rasp of care ; 

The little prickling thorn ; 

The hasty word that seems unfair ; 

The twang of truths well worn ; 

The jest that makes our weakness plain; 

The darling plan o'erturned ; 

The careless touch upon our pain ; 

The slight we have not earned. 

Dear Lord, to-day, 
Lest all these fretting things 
Make needless grief, oh give, we pray, 
The heart that trusts— and sings ! 

February 9, 1903. 




A 



mi. 

We mourn a counsellor and friend well tried, 
Whose own peculiar place none can supply ; 
But, whilst our hearts are sad, as thus bereft, 
We fix our faith on Him Who dealt the blow, 
Assured by words immutable and promise sure, 
"The dead are blest who die in Christ ;" 
And "Faithful ones shall have a crown of life." 

V. 

Thus comforted we bow, resigned ; 
And trust our loved one, gone, to Christ's em- 
brace. 
Yearning to meet again : 
Nor yearn in vain— for thus we read, 
"Those gone before may not return ; 
But you may go to them." 

— Benj. W. Scoeey. 

Watkins, N. Y.,«' 



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